Morning
by Strawberry Shortcake123
Summary: "You were always a mom, Ziva," Tony says, and today, she might actually believe him. Tiva. Companion oneshot to Worthy.


**Today I am posting my six final stories as a part of the NCIS fan fiction community. Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, favoriting and alerting my stories- you all have made my time here worthwhile.**

**This story is a oneshot companion to my longfic, Worthy, and won't make a whole lot of sense unless you've already read that. It falls during the beginning of chapter 34.**

Angelina is sound asleep, curled up in a ball beneath her purple comforter.

She looks like a peaceful, innocent child- and, at heart, she is- but Ziva knows how easily the little girl can make a morning stressful and chaotic. Up to now, she's only watched as Tony dealt with it.

Today, though, is the start of something different. Ziva is determined to embed herself in Angelina's daily routines, and this morning marks her first real attempt at doing so. It is a necessary step. If she and Tony are going to raise their child together the way they should have been doing since the beginning, Ziva needs to be a mother.

The terror coursing through her is completely ridiculous.

And yet there it is. So very present.

She crosses to the window first and pulls open the white curtains, allowing the outside light to enter the room. Then she goes to the bed and gently shakes Angelina's shoulder. "Angelina," she calls softly. "Time to get up for school."

The response is a grunt.

"Angelina."

"Noooooo."

Usually, this is the point at which Ziva hands Angelina over to Tony. But he is asleep and, besides, she really needs to do this herself. And so she gathers her courage, adopts a firmer tone, and says, "Now."

One second passes.

Two.

Then: "Mommy, I'm tired."

But Angelina is sitting up, rubbing her eyes, tossing back her blankets.

Ziva turns away to hide her smile.

0000000000

After Angelina spends ten minutes trying to decide between two shirts, red and green (and eventually chooses a blue one that seems to come out of nowhere), they move into the bathroom. Angelina climbs onto the stepstool in front of the sink. "Here," she says, handing Ziva a hairbrush.

"_Toda_."

"Does that mean 'thank you'?"

"Mhmm."

"_Toda, toda, toda_," Angelina repeats. Ziva starts to brush through her tangled locks. She stares into the mirror as she does so, noting the physical similarities between herself and her daughter: brunette hair, high cheekbones, olive skin. Angelina has many of Tony's qualities, too, but she looks enough like her mother that Ziva has to wonder how much pain the likeness caused Tony during the years that she was gone.

She shakes her head, not wanting to think about it, and focuses on the task at hand. Once Angelina's hair is smooth and straight, Ziva pauses. "Do you want this braided?"

"Yeah," she says, "but Daddy has to do it."

Ziva tries not to feel hurt. Tony has been Angelina's personal stylist for years; of course she would want him. "Your daddy is still in bed. I can do it for you."

"You know how?"

"I do."

Silence ensues, but is followed by a reluctant, "Okay."

She sets about dividing the hair into sections. As she crisscrosses them flat against Angelina's head, she bites her lip. It does not matter that she has known how to braid hair for three decades; _these_ braids have to be acceptable to the little girl wearing them.

They have to live up to the standard Tony has set.

And it's silly, but Ziva really does feel a bit of pressure.

She finishes the left braid first, ties it off with an elastic and a ribbon, and then moves on to the right. When she has finished, she steps back and surveys her work. "Do they look alright, Angelina?" she asks, fiddling with her own hair.

Angelina turns around, eyes wide, and nods vigorously. "You're just as good as Daddy!"

Ziva starts blinking fast. Before the tears can spill over, she leans down to palm Angelina's cheeks. "Not quite," she murmurs, and kisses her on the forehead.

0000000000

"Ziva?"

She slides a chocolate chip pancake onto a plate, douses it in syrup, and puts it in front of Angelina. Tony calls her name again. She steps out of the kitchen and finds him in the hallway, brow furrowed. "Yes?"

"Where's Ang?"

"In here with me."

"I overslept," he sighs. "I needed to get her ready before now." He slips past Ziva, pausing long enough to steal a kiss. "Ang, hey, you gotta go throw on some clo-"

Tony stops short when he sees that Angelina is dressed and has a fork in her mouth, shoes on her feet, two French braids resting on her shoulders. "I'm ready for school," she says.

His jaw falls open slightly. "I didn't hear any commotion."

Ziva shrugs, barely managing to keep her pride off her face. "She was pretty cooperative."

He turns toward her, and in the next second, his hands are on her waist, backing her up against the nearest counter. She cannot keep the corners of her mouth from turning up when he lowers his head to hers. "I love you," he murmurs lowly, so that only the two of them can hear it.

Ziva wraps her arms around him and tries to keep her tone light. "I might turn into a mother after all, hmm?"

But Tony's reply, spoken into the crook of her neck, is serious. "You were always a mom, Ziva. That's why you came back to us."

And he kisses away the tear crawling down her face.


End file.
